


I Don't Like It But I Guess Things Happen That Way

by Procrast16



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, It's gonna be very long, Love, M/M, More Tags will Come Later, Poor Everyone, and fun tho, angsty, don't worry to much, many characters come in much later, ozai is a bitch, poor Sokka, poor Zuko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Procrast16/pseuds/Procrast16
Summary: Sokka has been captured by the fire nation on one of their raids against his village. Fire Lord Ozai decides that the ultimate domination of the tribe is to force Sokka, son of the chief of the Southern Water Tribe, to marry his son, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation. Meanwhile, Katara finds Aang and they begin their journey to save the world and Sokka. (In this fic Zuko hasn’t been burned or banished yet and is 16. The events of the Agni Kai will happen though.)
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 115





	I Don't Like It But I Guess Things Happen That Way

**Author's Note:**

> I have made the decision to delete the other draft of this fic, only after I did that did I realize that many of my lovely bookmarks and comments have been lost but I'm an idiot so :(   
> In other news welcome new readers and old alike, I've reworked and edited the first chapter and hope you guys enjoy, thank you!

The Fire Navy ship’s prison is dank and musty, drops of water running lazily down the cold hard steel of the walls. A nasty cut runs jagged on his right leg and burns lay scattered across his cold dark skin. Hair from his wolf tail has slipped from its bondage and now falls in pleats around his face, and his signature blue tunic is tattered, burnt, and torn.

Dumped unceremoniously in the corner of the cell, he curses the spirits and their ability to do nothing. The raid itself had come unexpectedly. Sokka had seen the ships patrolling the area, as they usually do, but the initial attack had been a complete slap in the face. And now here he was, a lowly prisoner of his enemy nation.

Flinching and gritting his teeth he forces his leg to cooperate and shifts it into a position that will stop the blood flow as well as the rampant pain pulsing through it. The cut is ragged and raised around the edges. And a purplish red color has started to seep into the wound and Sokka holds back a curse.

Footsteps begin clanging down the stairs to his cell, and by the sound of the unhurried rhythm, it was someone who belonged. 

Deciding that it was degrading to be found in a crumpled position in the corner of his cell, Sokka painfully drags himself to his feet, making sure to keep most of the weight shifted to his left side. Bracing himself on the wall he sets his eyes on the shaded figures now headed for the bars of his confinement.

As they reach the light, Sokka is momentarily shocked to find an admiral and a cloaked figure on the other side of the bars.

“You see, Prince Zuko, the prisoner is perfectly sound and well kept,” the admiral drawls. 

Sokka can’t help but feel a shock go through him at the name and honorific he’d so carelessly thrown around. 

“Yeah, well taken care of!” The cloaked figure bursts, his hand sweeping in a wide motion, fist clenched, to finally land in a gesture at Sokka. “My father had specific requests that the water tribe peasant not be harmed! And look at him, look at his leg!”

“Prince Zuko, he’s your future problem, if you so wish to see him cared for then that’s your prerogative,” The admiral man drawls disrespectfully back, all but ignoring the title of “prince” and the way the figure's hands were smoking. 

Then, watching the admiral man’s back disappear back into the shadows, Sokka slides his gaze back to the silhouette of the man. A moment passes before anything happens, but Sokka can feel his eyelids drooping as the pulsating in his leg grows worse with each passing second. And then, when the shadow man does move, Sokka all but convulses, surprised at the sudden movement and vision hazy. 

The man on the other side stops marginally, having seen the convulsion, but in a split decision continues his action.

As the hood of the cloak falls so does Sokka’s body. The last thing he sees is the beautiful color of molten amber. 

As the boy’s body hits the steel floor Zuko can’t help but flinch at the dull thud. Taking this chance he examines the boy from afar. The boys' clothes are a mess and he’s littered with bruises. His hair covers his fallen face as it slips further from its binding and his body lies in a painfully contorted position. 

The more Zuko looks at him the sicker his stomach gets and it only takes a moment for him to shakily reach for the set of keys that hang at his hip.

Quickening his pace he unlocks the door and paces over to the crumpled water tribe boy. Stooping down he casts a glance around before gently laying his hand on the other. 

Without his usual brashness, Zuko braces him and rolls him over onto his back, wincing when the injured boy lets out a whine in his unconscious form. Next, he begins to straighten out his legs, and at the sight of the jagged, raised purple skin he grimaces and tries his best to avoid the area. 

Only after the boy is in a more comfortable position does Zuko venture a look at his hair covered face. And with still shaking fingers he brushes the surprisingly very soft brown hair from the peasant boy’s face and promptly lets out a huff of breath at the warmness radiating from him.

A second or two passes before Zuko goes into action and he springs up and out of the cell in search of his uncle, not even bothering to shut the prison door. At the hot touch of skin, Zuko knows that without help the other boy won’t be waking in a while.

  
  


“This isn’t good prince Zuko, he seems to have a very bad fever from the infection in his leg,” Iroh says, a worried gleam in his usual jovial eyes.

“What do you need me to do?” Comes the determined question for the prince.

Expertly schooling his surprise and the swell of pride he feels, Iroh gives Zuko a list of things to gather from around the ship. 

Once Zuko exits the room Iroh begins his examination o the injured boy. With his dark skin and light brown hair, he seems almost exotic to someone from the fire nation, and when Iroh lifts the boy’s eyelid the sea-blue eyes could be classified as mesmerizing but now is not the time.

Next, he checks his pulse, his reactiveness, and his breathing, frowning at the boys temperature. Then, moving from the basic check-up procedures, Iroh focuses his attention on the boy’s leg and sends dirty thoughts toward the admiral and his crew. There was no excuse as to why this boy was injured in such a way. In fact, Iroh despises this whole plan, despises that he is technically a part of it, that he is powerless to stop it. Most of all he hates that his dear nephew is apart of this.

“I’m sorry,” Iroh whispers to the unconscious boy lying in front of him. “I-”

“Uncle! I got the supplies!” Zuko yells, bursting into the room with an armful of said supplies. A lone water jug falls to the floor as he stands nervously. It’s been a while since Iroh has seen his anything but angry or exasperated. He almost smiles at the thought and might have given different circumstances. But for now, someone needs his help and damn if he won’t do his best.

“Alright nephew, you can set those over there and bring me a towel.” He calmly orders.

Lifting the boy’s head from the metal table carefully, he slips the plush folded towel under it as a cushion.

“Water and cloth,” Iroh commands, pleased at the speed at which it is delivered into his outstretched hand.

Wetting the small cloth he wrings it out into a bowl to his right before placing it on the darker boy’s inferno of a forehead.

Next, he asks for scissors, needle, thread, and alcohol. Moving down he begins cutting away at the boy’s trousers where the cut runs raised and ugly. Then he gets the alcohol and splashes a good amount onto another small cloth and another small cloth with water.

Starting with the water he cleans the blood and dirt away from the wound, all focus on the cut. Done with the water he grabs the alcohol cloth, but before applying it to the wound he snakes his eyes up to the poor boy’s face.

By the looks of it, he’s still out cold and seems undisturbed at the moment.

Peering back down he applies the alcohol gingerly but firmly, making sure to get everything. This next part will be the worst and spares a worried glance to Zuko whom he almost forgot was there.

The boy prince’s attention lies solely on the other boy, face furrowed in concentration as Iroh works. He only notices Iroh’s stare when Iroh pats his shoulder in a reassuring manner.

“This part is always the worst prince Zuko,” Iroh admits to him, effectively breaking the silence. “I will not blame you if you must leave the room.”

“I will be fine Uncle,” Zuko huffs lightly, silently urging Iroh to hurry.

Threading the needle takes but a minute and then it’s showtime. Casting one last glance at Zuko, who gives a nod, Iroh pierces the flesh and begins to sew it together stitch by stitch.

  
  
  


Sokka stirs about 3 hours after the operation. It’s dark when he cracks his eyes open and he feels sick to his stomach. Shutting them again he feels his leg throb and his back is sore.

Blearily he attempts to move his head and regrets it when his neck and body give an acute ache in protest. Moaning at the discomfort he attempts opening his eyes again. The ringing in his ears grows stronger as bile claws it’s way up his throat. 

Only when something touches him does he return to fuzzy reality.

“You shouldn’t move too much,” comes an old voice from above him, and what he now knows is a hand pushes lightly on his chest, ceasing his movements.

“...W-where… who..?” Comes the feverish inquisition from Sokka, throat raw from unuse.

“Shhhh, just rest,” says the voice, and Sokka does.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment what you think, it really helps!


End file.
